Aeon Flux: 2311
by The Real Cas
Summary: In 2311, just a hundered years before the movie storyline, Aeon is reincarnated as her "normal" self. Caught in the middle of the war between Bregna and Monica City, Aeon learns new secrets and dangerous people that rival her own skills. In meeting these new characters, new challenges and adventures, the fate of the human race is left entirely up to Aeon...


I never know if this is the day I die or not. In a way I know I can never truly die, since I'm not even really human. Clones are just reflections of genes. Copies of divine masterpiece.

My name is Aeon Flux.

I'm a lethal assassin, seducer of men, killer of Breens. I am a Monican. A surviving rebel in a fascist state. Bregna is the last city on earth, the only few who survived the Industrial Disease. Today, I carry out my mission as always-even death cannot stop me from helping people break the golden shackles of our guilded cage for true freedom-a right of the people.

Right now I wait outside the Fertility Facility for Trevor Goodchild. I never know if I love the man, or hate his principles.

My hair was stuck to the back of my neck, the sweat beading down to the top of my forehead. Being upside down looking upon people is not the most comfortable thing to do. But as a spy, anything is considered necessary and forgivable by the people you work for as long as you achieve the mission and then some. Morals are a thing of the past. In Bregna the only rules are the ones made by the Goodchild regime. I do live by rules, though others hardly know about it. I just don't like bad rules; therefore, they're meant to be broken. My only rule is to fight for freedom of mankind. Everything else is permissible, forgivable, and forgettable. No one ever sees me break my rule, if they are even aware of it.

Anyways, the hot yellow sun seeped through the windows up into the ceiling all the way down to the ground. My eyes momentarily blurred, until I wiped away the sweat with my free hand. All of a sudden, in the back of my mind-well, more in the Corpus Callosum-I heard a voice-but it wasn't my own…

"Aeon." The Handler called to me.

"Handler." I thought back.

"We have an assignment for you." The Handler said echoing in the dead zones of my mind.

"What do I need to do?" I thought quietly.

"Trevor Goodchild has control of the Cloning Stream." Said Handler.

"Tell me something I don't know, who do I need to remove?" I thought impatiently.

"Aeon, first you must insert someone, and then remove another-in that order-it is imperative, do you understand?" Handler scolded.

"Who and who, and where do I get the genes?" I asked.

"The one that needs removal is named Adamou Edic. He is no longer needed in the Stream. The one that needs to be inserted into the Stream is named Nova Maverick. This is utterly important. If you fail-you'll be shot on sight by the Monican Agents, if not already done so by the Breen Agents. Do you understand, Aeon Flux?" Handler ordered.

"Orders are clear, Handler." I responded, and then the shiver down my spine meant that the hallucination is receding like a memory. I knew what I had to do. I jumped from the wire that held my feet, ultimately my whole self-upside down like a bat, dozens of feet in the air above the mindless drones of the Breen infested facility. I landed on my feet, like cats do, since the earrings I have shift the fluid to the right spot in the Ogalith Membrane in my inner ear. I landed out of sight from the Breen troops and scientists walking around the building. I got up and walked to the nearest door leading to the staircase in the tall building. No one notices you if you seem a part of the normal routine.

Wearing the same white high-collared suit makes blending in easy. I took out my universal gun, attaching the grappling hook to it. Quickly attaching it to the harness around my waist, I clicked the dial of how many stories I needed to go. Soon with the press of the trigger, I raced upwards, the air brushing my face, cooling the sweat upon my skin. My eyes burned with the air, but blinking helped little. Vaulting over the high rail, I walked over to the door, leading to the top of the building outside. The roof view is good for people who smoke or have affairs, not that it really matters.

Waiting patiently, I see the Relical come by on its predictable path in the air. The tan zeppelin is meant to be a reminder of what we survived. For me it's a reminder of what I lost, and what I'm fighting for. I have no family. No father, no mother, no brothers, no sisters, no husband. No one at all. I know I've had them before, at least in my past lives-memories that's all I have now. I guess I should say dreams. I see them then too.

The Relical was close to the building now; I adjusted the grapple with the wind speed and the distance, calibrating my bodyweight again with it. My gun can do almost anything except remember my weight; though it is logical since it defaults to blank wind speed, weight, and distance. Creeping slowly by, or so it seemed, I breathed a heavy breath, steadying my aim. Firing when it was within range, the grapple caught on to the open bay part of the zeppelin, pulling me with it. I actually hate heights-well, more so of falling. I've died many times by falling, drowning, bleeding to death, pain, gunshots, electrocutions, everything. It is not fun at all. I was flying and so I retracted my grapple; again I zoomed up to the zeppelin, to the deck. Vaulting over the weak rails, I went into the main entrance of the docking bay area. I scanned for the familiar door that leads to the cabin, after the cabin I knew I'd find the Stream, where all the Bregnites are made. Following my mental map, I made it into the sterile room, where the people are remade like machines. I breathed in the air of the foul corpse stench of rebirth. DNA is recycled from the decaying blood from the citizens who died. Flesh, blood, bone, anything goes. Hell, even semen is used to replicate some men back into society.

The Keeper was on his pedestal, working on the podium verbally analyzing the perfect couple to place the genetically perfected, yet dead Bregnite. This wasn't going to be easy. The Keeper is neutral to our internal war, but he'll never stop his job regardless. My interruptions are often overlooked, but this time he might mind.

"Aeon." Handler said, the shiver creeping up my spine.

"Yes, Handler?" I said.

"Do not inquire of the DNA, just do it and then leave; do not talk to the Keeper." Handler ordered.

A red flag went up.

"Why?" I asked.

"Just do it Aeon-or else." Handler ordered.

"You're up to something." I stated the obvious.

"Aeon, just walk away and do as you are told." Handler hissed in the far reaches in my mind.

"No, I need answers. If you won't provide, then I will find it." I snapped.

"We will have you hunted like a Breen fugitive, is that what you want?" Handler provided the ultimatum.

"Hunt me, I always come back." I said fiercely.

"Don't be so sure, Aeon-we are coming." Handler challenged.

"Come get me…if you can." I thought at last.

Then with my hand reaching to my back, somewhere along my spine I felt a knob that wasn't a vertebra. The CommCapsule was providing the link between me and the hallucination of a mysterious Handler. The capsule itself lied just beneath the skin, and the electrochemical signals are shot into my spine that leads into the Corpus Callosum where each half of my brain communicates with itself…and others. Taking my nails and digging into my very own flesh I ripped out the capsule, as painful as it was. The shiver panicked, begging, "Aeon don't-"

Silence followed my bloodied hand and back.

White suits are not a good idea when back blood is present. I sighed; my job is never easy, being an assassin that is. Espionage are my lives. However, according to the Bregna Government, my name, identity, reputation, job, my whole life is different. It's all a lie.

According to them, my name is Katrina Van Rensselaer. Orphaned at nineteen, actress for Bregna's Entertainment Department, to them I'm average. Apparently, I'm dumb enough to not understand the modeling gig; I model the latest Breen Military Uniforms, and other experimental items. Apparently, I'm dumb enough to understand the Breen's propaganda; but really I'm smart enough to understand what they do to us. The drugs they fill our foods with, the pills to make us sleep and forget. The ignorance to how we are made. The ignorance of the human trial experiments they do to "missing peoples." Everything I "don't know" or "don't understand." It is also funny that I get to play myself in a T.V show called "The Hidden Truth." My character is an evil Monican terrorist, who seeks to destroy the Breen's method of keeping peace and tranquility. It's a load of bullshit, with me as the exception. I am a terrorist in their eyes; in reality, I fight for freedom, not always peace, not for the bragged for guilded cage they portray and broadcast. They're the liars-I am the way of truth for Bregna. They just don't know it yet.

Walking over to the Keeper, I asked, "Keeper…"

He paused from his work, "Welcome back, Aeon Flux."

"I need to know about two people, can you help me?" I asked.

"Which people?" Keeper replied.

"Adamou Edic and Nova Maverick. Why are they important?"

"Adamou?" Keeper repeated.

"Yes."

"Are you going to remove him, Aeon?" Keeper asked.

"I'm supposed to but," I showed him my bloodied hand, tossing the capsule and stepping on it crushing it instantly, "I'm being hunted as of now."

"Even for a Monican, you were always a different kind a rebel." Keeper said quietly.

"Adamou is the first man who the Goodchilds and I cloned successfully, a little over three hundred years ago when the Industrial Disease plagued our world. He was also the son of Monica-your namesake. His father was…" Keeper paused. In his hesitation I urged, "Go on, please."

"Trevor Goodchild."

Shock spread, hitting me in the chest. "Goodchild?"

"You are surprised, why?" Keeper asked.

"I thought the original Aeon, if I remember correctly; Katherine Goodchild was Trevor's wife."

"After the disease claimed the original Aeon, and countless others of mankind, Trevor was motivated by your death for a cure-the real catalyst for everything you see in Bregna today."

"How?" I inquired.

"He found the cure, a vaccine, and of course resulted in many other problems than it fixed," He continued, "The remaining survivors founded Bregna for the enduring human race. Among the Breen Councilors, Monica and Trevor had a lovechild, who died due to his overindulgence in mixed alcohols and various medicines-he died. Then the clone was made, and from his tissue we analyzed how the replication factor could be recreated and thusly, the process could continue. Along with the political division, the personal interests between Monica and Trevor clashed. Fueled by Oren's jealousy, Oren devised a scheme here that only I have known about that caused the faction of Breens and Monicans. He helped nurture the hatred between Trevor and Monica. Needless to say, we are still feeling the fallout." Keeper concluded.

I thought for a moment, what would the purpose of these two people have today? Ok, they caused it, but why are they needed now? It's interesting to know that life ceased all because Katherine-the original Aeon-had gotten sick, loved one man, and then…died.

I never knew my first death would be the cause of everything I see and deal with here, today.

This very thought punched the breath right out of my body, and on the sterilized Keeper.

"Why is Nova important?" I inquired, inhaling the sterile air.

"She is Monica's real name." Keeper slowly said.

The words echoed in my mind.

"What?" I breathed.

"She named herself Monica as a code name when she started the revolution. The rest you now know." Keeper added.

"How come my other lives didn't know this?" I said.

"You did. However, your memories are suppressed. What you do remember, I think is what you favor-but I'm a geneticist, neuroscientist, neurologist, and Keeper of the truth and history of our world; I'm no psychiatrist though." Keeper included.

All this information circled my mind as his mouth continued moving. My world as always is shaking.


End file.
